


It Feels Like Dying, But We’re Just Flying

by KittyMotor



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety, Flying, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22250263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMotor/pseuds/KittyMotor
Summary: Karkat flies in a plane for the first time and meets a really kind passenger who helps him not lose his cool.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Kudos: 53





	It Feels Like Dying, But We’re Just Flying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plasticdaisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasticdaisy/gifts).



> Loosely based on my first flight I had just recently to go see my boyfriend.

I fucking knew I should've left earlier. It sounded shady that I should only give myself an hour for everything- especially given all of the airport horror stories I’ve heard- but Kankri insisted that a mere 60 minutes is plenty for a domestic flight. Yeah, right. Plenty my ass. Tell that to the security agent rifling through my backpack five minutes before I have to be on the plane; I don’t even know where gate C23 is! Apparently I can’t have my can of pepper spray on the flight- which is fine- and I just tell the security guy to toss it away. It’s my first flight and I really don’t wanna be the asshole to delay the whole plane. I ignore the odd look he gives me and assure him it’s fine and no I don’t need it fucking mailed to me please sir just let me get to my flight. I thank him through gritted teeth as I’m handed my bag and heave it onto my back. I check the time on my phone and I have only two minutes to find my gate and board- motherfuck. I rush down two of the longest hallways I think I’ve ever been in and there’s an announcement playing over a loudspeaker. Something about some name needing to be at the gate I’m going to is all I process before at last finding where I need to go. I thank the man who takes my ticket and speedwalk onto the plane, nearly running into the flight attendant on my way in. I figured I wouldn’t have difficulty finding my seat, especially seeing as there’s only two columns of seats- one of which is only single chairs instead of two or three like I was expecting them all to be- but I groan when I see that they aren’t labelled anywhere that I can easily glance at. 

“Seat 3A?” I turn to the attendant and ask. I feel like an idiot as he just points to the empty seats next to me. At least I had made a mental note that I had gotten a window seat so I didn’t make a complete ass of myself. I sigh as a sit down and I feel like I can finally breathe now that I actually made it. I shoot a text to Kanaya, whom I’m meeting at the airport when we land in New York City. She reminds me to breathe and that I’ll be fine, which is honestly pathetically reassuring as I turn my phone to airplane mode. I force myself to lean back in my chair and try to relax. It feels like pins underneath my skin as I drum my fingertips on the armrest and every new sound makes my stomach drop. One more person gets on the plane and I feel a bit better knowing I’m not the last dickbag getting on. I take stock of my situation: no crying kids, I wasn’t too held up in security, I feel relatively okay, and apparently the seat next to me is empty? I can’t complain. Rather, it would've been empty if it hadn’t been for some beanpole of a guy to saunter onto the plane and park his admittedly nice ass next to me. I look him over as he gets situated in the seat. His straight, blonde hair is a little mussed and he’s just wearing a thin, red hoodie to go with his skinny jeans and douchey-looking shades. The hell does he need those for? It’s dark outside! He kicks his plain black backpack next to my significantly fuller and heavily decorated one with his ratty red converse. Color coordinated bastard, he even has red studs in his ears. I’m embarrassed as I feel his eyes rake over me behind his glasses, suddenly self conscious of my facial piercings and uneven skin.

“Howdy,” he says with a surprisingly thick southern accent. I jump and feel myself bristle with nerves before I let out an even ‘hi’ and turn to the window. I regret forgetting headphones as the plane lurches backwards and the noise of the engines hits me like a truck. I grip the armrests in a death grip and tilt my head back trying to calm my nerves. The passenger sitting next to me lets out a small huff of a laugh and asks innocently, “y’all good, man?” God, I want to punch him. 

“Do I fucking look good,  _ man _ ?” I respond with a glare. He raises his hands in a small surrender. 

“Y’look like you fuckin’ hate flyin’.” His accent would be kind-of endearing if I didn’t feel like crying. 

“I wouldn’t know; I’ve never done it.” I bounce my leg as the flight attendant begins to speak. I can’t even understand him between his accent and the drone of the engines, so I settle for pretending I can hear him and hoping that I don’t need the safety instructions he's giving us. The plane turns to take off and I wheeze a little feeling the acceleration, though the flip my stomach does once we’re off the ground is what does me in. I scramble to grasp the stranger’s hand and close my eyes, already desperately wanting to be back on the ground. 

He squeezes my hand and my eyes shoot open. He’s smiling at me from behind his glasses- I hate that I can’t even see his eyes. I half stutter an apology and let go of his hand, wishing the plane would just open up and drop me. 

“Dude, if I had a cute guy hold my hand every time I took off in a plane I’d feel like the luckiest fucker alive.” I feel heat rush to my cheeks and he exhales another laugh, “I was gonna tell you to look out the window, though.” Fear sparks up my spine at the thought of looking down.

“Oh- no I don’t fuck with heights.” I’m curious, but also terrified. 

“Nah, you don’t even feel like you’re high up,” he promises. I raise an eyebrow and he holds up his hand with his pinky extended. 

“Fucking seriously?” I can’t help but laugh, “are you honest-to-god pinky promising me? What is this, third grade?”

“Hell yeah, man. I fuckin’ pinky promise.” I roll my eyes and hook my pinky with his. “And if y’all don’t like it you can punch me.” I snort.

“Careful with vows like that; I pack a hell of a punch,” I warn. I take a deep breath before turning to look out the window, and what I see is actually lovely. The sun is just beginning to come up and all the streets below are lit like string lights. Cars below look miniscule, their lights really the only visible part of them, and they look astoundingly slow compared to how fast the plane is moving. The fear I expected to feel coursing through my veins is nonexistent, and I can’t help but utter a quiet, “wow.” The stranger snickers behind me and I turn to glare at him, but any anger is gone as soon as I see his smile. “Oh fuck off; it looks cool,” I mutter and cross my arms.

“Why d’you think I told you to look?” He leans back in his seat, clearly satisfied with my reaction.

We end up passing small talk back and forth between me taking pictures out the window, talking about our lives and what's bringing us to New York City. He talks curtly about his brother and I grunt in agreement, telling him about my own family and their negativity regarding my future plans. I talk about my friend who’s picking me up from the airport and her apartment which is going to be ours shortly, and he responds that he's in a similar situation with his sister despite not being too thrilled. We commiserate on failed relationships and misunderstandings between friends, finding solace in knowing that we aren’t as alone as we may have originally thought.

By time the landing announcement sounds and we’re reminded to grab all of our things, I almost wish the flight could last a little longer. I thank the stranger next to me for helping my nerves- though he doesn't really feel much like a stranger anymore. Once the wheels are on the ground he’s on his phone calling someone, assumedly his sister, and I figure I should do the same for Kanaya. She’s asking more questions than I can really keep up with and I’m on the phone with her until I’m walking towards the baggage claim. I lose my new friend almost as soon as we’re let off the plane, his long legs taking him much further than my own short ones, and he's too caught up in his own conversation for me to ask for his number or even a name. I don’t know why this sinking feeling seeps into my chest the second I lose sight of him. Maybe it’s all the rom coms I watch making me feel like I missed out on something, some big realization that he's the one and that everything in life will click into place by having him be mine. I can’t shake it even after I tell Kanaya where to pick me up and hang up, slipping my phone in my pocket so I can grab my suitcase from the conveyor. I’m too focused on scanning for my bag to hear footsteps behind me, and I jump when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turn on my heel and feel the air rushing from my lungs as soon as I realize it's the guy from the plane. 

“Hey sorry for rushin’ off like that I had to go find my sister,” he apologizes and runs a hand through his hair. He looks a little flushed and out of breath, as if he ran to catch up with me. “But here,” he hands me a crumpled up piece of paper. I barely have time to process what’s going on before he continues, “my name’s Dave and I think hangin’ out would be really cool if you’d be up to it.” He looks at me expectantly and it feels like my brain is buffering. I open up the paper and read that it has his number and name written messily in red ink. 

“I-” I begin, looking between him and the paper before letting a smile crack and spread across my face. “Hell yeah, that’d be dope!” He smiles back at me and lets his shoulders drop a bit as if he was holding his breath. “My name’s Karkat, by the way.” I fold the paper neatly and put it into my pocket, readying myself to extend my hand until he pulls me into a hug. I freeze for a moment before hugging him back. I can smell his deodorant and body wash through his clothes and I catch the beginning of some gay thought before the embrace is over. I hope the blush on my face isn't as severe as it feels when I look back up at him. He looks as if he’s about to talk again when the sound of Queen cuts him off. I’m snapped back into reality and fumble for my phone, opening it to Kanaya asking where I am. I respond with the door number and look back up to apologize to Dave, but he’s already slipped away again. I feel just a moment of disappointment before remembering the note in my pocket and refocus myself. I find my bag quickly and step out onto the sidewalk outside, flagging down my ride and throwing my things into the trunk of her car. As soon as there's a lull in conversation I open my phone and put in Dave’s number, sending him a simple, “HEY.” It isn't long before I feel the buzz of my phone in my hand and it feels like someone lit a match in my chest reading his message, “hey karkles” I scoff at the nickname quietly and before long the conversation is easy smooth. For the first time in 21 years and in a city I’ve never been in, I finally feel like I’m home. 


End file.
